If it helps you breathe
by Lostinfic
Summary: "In London, you can keep secrets. You can be anonymous, you can be whoever you want. But as long as one person knows you entirely and loves you still… it's the best place in the world." After what they've been through, both Hardy and Hannah need one such person, a kindred spirit to feel free again and enjoy the city.
1. Chapter 1

I.

Staring at the words on her laptop screen, Hannah huffed. There were only so many synonyms for 'cock' she could use in one paragraph. Her eyes flitted to the taskbar at the bottom of the screen, Facebook was just one click away. No. She inhaled deeply, rolled her neck, and focused back on the text in front of her.

She was on a roll, typing away about a couple fornicating on a train, when she was rudely interrupted by her Beyonce ringtone. Jackie. Hannah winced as she picked up.

"You're invited to Sunday lunch," her sister said in a honeyed voice.

Hannah was immediately suspicious and started looking for an excuse.

"Erm, I'm not sure I—"

"I need you to come," Jackie insisted.

"Ok, what's going on?" Hannah asked, suddenly worried.

"You know my new boyfriend Kyle who's a doctor?"

"Yes, I know your new boyfriend Kyle who's a doctor."

They'd been dating for a year, it was hardly news.

"His brother, Alec, is in town, he's staying with us and he's… Well, I'm sure he's usually delightful—"

"No, he's not," she heard Kyle shout in the background.

"Anyways, I need you to entertain him."

"I used to get paid for that," Hannah muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. But why are you asking me? Don't you have some lonely, middle-aged friend for that?"

"You know how you are. You're… funny."

"I believe 'attention whore' is the phrase you used last time."

"Do you have to use words like that? Really, Hannah… Anyways, 11:30. Don't be late!"

Well, that phone call had effectively ruined her inspiration. She rose from her office chair and headed to the kitchen for a coffee break.

"Sam? Where are you?" she called on her way down the stairs.

II.

For once in London, Sunday lived up to its name: the air was warm, the sky was blue, the birds were chirping. It was unnerving, but it was the perfect opportunity to wear her new red summer dress. Her sister might not approve of the neckline, but she'd asked her to "entertain" her brother-in-law, she hadn't specified how.

She could have found an excuse not to go, but she'd been trying to get closer to her family. Yes, even Jackie. The main reason being her godson, Olly. She loved him to bits. Even though she had no desire to have kids of her own, and couldn't be more annoyed by all the people reproducing around her, she liked being the cool aunt. The one who spoiled him and gave him back to his mom when he was annoying. The cool aunt who would teach him all the things Jackie disapproved of, and who would slap him upside the head if he's anything less than a perfect gentleman.

"Banana!" Her blond nephew cried, running to the door as soon as she stepped in and throwing himself in her arms.

"Pickle!"

"Did you bring lollies?" he asked, eyeing her bag.

"Not this time, I've only brought grownup juice," she replied, pulling out a bottle of wine and handing it to Jackie.

"I have a new unca," the boy said.

"Oh, really, where is he?"

Olly pulled her by the hand to the living room where Kyle and his brother were watching snooker on television, beer in hand. They both stood up when she came in. The family resemblance was obvious even with Kyle's more clean-cut appearance and bigger frame.

Hannah had always had a soft spot for skinny boys, but lately she'd developed a taste for older men. Alec Hardy checked both boxes: lanky frame and freckled cheeks, soft lines at the corner of his eyes and a certain confidence in the way he held himself— not the cockiness of younger men but an assurance that came from experience. He could use a better fitting suit but overall— yum.

Still, Sunday lunch with her family was probably not the most appropriate place to hit on someone. Although, the prospect of annoying her sister was an attractive one. Anyway, if he was anything like his brother, he would start getting on her nerves somewhere in the next ten minutes.

With a coquettish smile, she flipped her blond curls over her shoulder and shook his hand. Unsurprisingly, his eyes didn't stay on her face for very long. Neither did Kyle's eyes which earned him a kick in the shins from her sister.

Jackie announced that the meal was ready and they all moved to the kitchen. The table was all decked out with appropriate seasonal napkins and centerpiece. A bit kitsch to Hannah's liking, but she said something nice about it nonetheless. She caught Hardy smirking and wondered if he'd seen through her compliment.

With the oven working overtime since this morning, the homely smell of roasted meat and potatoes permeated the air, and Kyle had to open the patio door to cool down the room. A gentle breeze ruffled the gingham curtains, carrying in the laughter of the children next door. It was all very quaint especially with that floral apron Jackie was wearing.

Hannah watched with curiosity as Hardy filled his plate with salad and roasted potatoes leaving barely any space for a slice of beef. It didn't stop Jackie from piling meat and a mini Yorkshire pudding over the vegetables and covering the whole thing with gravy. He grimaced.

"I can't eat that."

"Don't be fussy," Kyle said.

"Make an effort. My roast beef is excellent, you won't regret it," Jackie insisted.

"Leave him alone," Hannah said, "he said he _can't_ eat it not that he didn't like it."

Alec glanced at her, but she couldn't tell if she'd offended him or if he was glad she'd come to his defence.

There was some talk about their respective mothers' cooking and much speculation over the true origin of Yorkshire pudding (named after the family, not the county, according to Kyle).

She quickly figured out that Hardy was as different from his brother as Hannah was different from her sister. That is to say they were fundamentally the same— they both had a desire to help the population as he was a police officer and his brother was a doctor— but distinct in their attitude. Kyle was nauseatingly cheerful whereas Alec was mostly subdued, a disposition he'd inherited from his father according to his brother.

"So, Hannah, what do you do?" Hardy asked.

A palpable discomfort settled in the room.

"I'm—"

"She's in publishing. More salad?" Jackie intervened.

Olly chose that moment to put a pea up his nose, disrupting the conversation. While his mother dealt with the crisis, Hannah cleared the plates, and Hardy helped her out. He pulled back his shirt sleeves to rinse the dinnerware, and she placed it in the dishwasher even though Jackie would probably do it all over.

"So, what was that about earlier?" he asked as they worked.

"You caused tension once and you're asking again?" Hannah said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"I like to get to the bottom of things."

"You might regret asking," she teased him.

He waited for her answer. She straightened from the dishwasher and grabbed the edge of the counter behind her, shifting her hips. She made a show of hesitating and smiling coyly.

"I write erotica," she said.

"That's it?" He arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"I'm not the one making a fuss about it."

To mend fences with her family, she'd decided to come clean— well, sort of. She'd revealed to them that she was the author of _The Intimate Adventures of a London Call girl_ bestsellers, and that she was still in the writing business. Their scandalized reaction ("we didn't raise you like this") had justified her years of silence. Still, they'd all come around eventually as long as she didn't talk about it too openly. Her father, as always, was the one who encouraged her writing career the most. Knowing he was proud of her despite the subject matter, had really made her efforts to reconnect with her family worth it.

Before they could discuss her career any further, Jackie came in and said something passive-aggressive about skipping desert on account of Hardy's diet. Then, she announced they would all play a game. Hardy and Hannah exchanged a skeptical look but followed Jackie to the living room.

"How about _Taboo_?" Jackie suggested, pulling the box out of a cabinet in the media unit.

"Are you sure, darling?" Kyle asked carefully.

The goal of the game was for a player to have their partner guess the word on the player's card without using the word itself or the other words listed on the card. The more words were guessed within two minutes, the more points the team had. Hannah usually teamed up with her father, and Jackie with their mother. The game had a history of sparking conflict amongst the Baxters. It was now banned from their family reunion. Except today, apparently.

"Hannah you can play with Alec," Jackie decided.

Hannah leaned complicitly towards her teammate and whispered: "We will destroy them." Hardy's eyes widened.

"Maybe we should play Uno instead."

Both girls laid out the material on the glass coffee table and divided the cards. After a practice round for Alec's benefit, the real competition began.

Hannah sat on the floral couch, one leg bent to face Hardy. There was less than 30 seconds left and she was getting anxious, if he couldn't guess this last card, they would lose another round. With every second ticking by, her voice became louder.

"India, white, bats—"she shouted.

"Rice! Taj Mahal!"

"No, erm, Jiminy!"

"What?"

"JIMINY! In Pinocchio!"

"… Gepetto?" Hardy tried.

Hannah sighed impatiently.

"Nooo, India, white, bats and balls, teams."

She gesticulated wildly, and Jackie threw her a warning look, mimes were forbidden.

"Jiminy for fuck's sake!" The buzzer rang. "Cricket! Jiminy Cricket, you idiot."

"Who the hell is that?" he replied, his voice hitting a high-pitched note it never had before.

"You know Gepetto but—"

"Stop rowing you two!" Olly said very seriously as he looked up from his building block with a scowl.

Hardy and Hannah exchanged a sheepish look.

"Sorry, Olly," they said at the same time.

It was Jackie's turn and she was impatient to play. Hannah took the chronometer, counted down from three, and her sister flipped the first card.

"What we had for dinner yesterday," Jackie said.

"Pizza!"

"You can't do that!" Alec objected.

But they could, being a couple gave Jackie and Kyle a clear advantage in this game. Hardy leaned sideways towards Hannah.

"How we going to crush them now?" he asked.

"Keep your eyes on the ball, Hardy," she replied, glad he was on board.

Finally, after two rounds, they managed to surpass their rivals' score. Hannah held up her hand for a high-five that Hardy regarded with circumspection before reluctantly slapping her hand. She bumped him with her shoulder and a teasing smile, he rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. The next time they won a round, he initiated the high-five.

As the game progressed, both teams grew more competitive, beyond normal sibling rivalry. When things became too heated, Kyle— who was the most level-headed at this point— intervened and called the game off. Anyway, there was no way for Hardy and Hannah to win, they were too far behind on points. The idea of a revenge game was suggested, but Kyle stepped in once more.

"Why don't you take Hannah home," he said to his brother.

He threw his car keys at Alec before they'd agreed to go. In other words, he wanted to get rid of his guests.

Hannah said goodbye to Olly with a hug and a promise they'd see each other again soon.

"Look, I need to get out of their air," Hardy said as they reached the car, "Would you like to go somewhere? With me."

"Oh, I can't, I have to get back to Sam."

"Yeah, of course, of course you have a boyfriend, sorry."

"Oh no, not a boyfriend, it's my dog. I have to walk him," Hannah clarified, "You could… if you want you could walk with us."

III.

At the Kensington Gardens, the smell of freshly-cut grass was strong in the air. Sam pulled on its leash relentlessly. With the ducks, squirrels and children running about, the puppy could barely contain itself. They walked past the Peter Pan statue and headed towards the round pond.

Despite the lively atmosphere, Hardy remained quiet. Hannah asked him a few personal things to which he replied with short answers and no follow up questions about her. He was sullen, eyes on the path, keeping a good distance between them. She gave up after a few tries, thinking this was a mistake, even though they'd gotten along pretty well earlier.

"I'm rubbish at small talk," he said, rubbing the back of his head, "I don't know how, I'm out of practice, I suppose."

"S alright," she said gently, she found the apologetic look on his face rather endearing to be honest. "Let's practice then, it's all about saying things that don't mean anything. Let's see, uhm, weather, that's always a good one: I heard we'll have a cool summer."

She nudged him with her elbow, indicating it was his turn.

"Aye, alright, cool summer… what about that global warming, then?"

"Oooh good one."

He rolled his eyes at her encouragement, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Another one," she said, "uhm, what about Arsenal this season, eh?"

"Haven't really followed football this year."

"Me neither, just go with it."

"Okay, erm, that referee, what a wanker."

"Needs to get his eyes fixed, he does," Hannah added, mimicking a gruff voice.

They continued like that for a while, exchanging meaningless and sometimes downright absurd chit chat. She revealed to him her secret go-to phrase when she had no idea what someone was complaining about: "it's people like us who should run this country."

She laughed a lot but Hardy held back, except for a few short and throaty chuckles. His mood had definitely improved, though, and there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes when he looked at her.

There were loads of people sitting on deck chairs and basking in the sun on the south bank of the pound. Amongst the crowd, they managed to find a spot of grass to sit down. Sam was panting, tongue hanging limply out of its mouth. Hannah filled a shallow bowl with bottled water for the puppy. She opened another bottle for herself. Stretching her legs, she leaned back on her hands, mirroring Hardy's posture.

They talked about their siblings and extended families. Just like Hannah, Hardy felt like the black sheep, the terrible middle child. His older brother and younger sister had both been straight-A students whereas he would ditch school as often as possible. His marriage had caused some controversy as well. His family had never liked Tess— one of the reasons why he'd left Glasgow— and they liked reminding him of that fact now that he was divorced.

"It's my lack of marriage that's problematic," Hannah said.

"Double standards."

"Yeah. I think my mother's more concerned about my ovaries' expiration date than my happiness."

Hardy chuckled.

"Well, you can't live your life trying to be what others want you to be, can you?" he said, and she couldn't agree more. "How else are you going to know what's the right thing to do, if you don't even know who you are?"

Hannah let his statement sink in. He barely knew her, yet his words were deeply relevant to her. Knowing oneself, as she'd found out lately, was a lifelong pursuit. _Who are you?_ she wanted to ask him. _Who will you be to me? Who can I be to you?_

She looked up to find him staring at her with a slight frown of concern. His eyes were a beautiful clear brown in the sun, and it made her feel all mushy inside. She couldn't remember the last time someone had made her feel that way.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, you're quite the philosopher." She nudged him with her shoulder.

"Had a lot of time to think," he said, "So, you're, erm, you're free."

"I have boyfriends, I suppose, nothing serious, never. Not after last time."

He clearly wanted to ask what she meant, just like she wanted to know what had happened with his ex-wife. However, they didn't know each other well enough yet to ask. There was that tension of impending questions lingering between them. To avert it, Hannah shook bits of gravel out of her wedges sandals.

When they resumed walking, they passed by an ice cream kiosk. She sent Hardy on a mission to buy two 99s and try out his small talk skills with the cashier. He wasn't too keen on doing it at first, but she managed to convince him. Whatever it is he said, it worked. He remained at the ice cream stand for a good ten minutes, two cones melting away in his hands while the old man behind the counter ranted. When Hardy glared at her, she came to his rescue with some excuse to leave the park quickly.

"What did you say?" she asked once they were far enough.

"Saw some chav on his mobile, and I just said 'kids these days', and now I know everything about his bloody grandson."

He was really annoyed, even more so when she started laughing, but he cooled down quickly and shook his head in a sort of indulgent way.

"Sorry," Hannah said.

"Nah. Thanks."

He smiled at her, a proper toothy grin that made her heart skip a beat. His whole face lit up, happy lines at the corners of his bright eyes. He looked down, a bit flustered, trying to reign in his own mouth, but his smile stayed despite his best efforts, and when he looked back up at her, she was still smiling too.

"You're very handsome when you smile," she said, "Shame you don't do it more often."

"Yeah well, investigating child murders will do that."

His statement shocked her. A shadow passed over his face, erasing any trace of his former happiness.

"Blimey, you are terrible at small talk."

"Fuck." He rubbed his eye with a groan. "Sorry, I spoiled the mood… I should go."

He started walking away but she followed him.

"You really want to be alone?" she asked.

"I'm not good company."

"It's not what I asked." He stopped, and she tried to think of something to say. "I know that kind of blue mood, when it sweeps over you…"

He kept his eyes on her, swallowed thickly and nodded.

But ultimately, he left.

IV.

Jackie had never quite grasped the concept of writing as an actual job, one that involved efforts and keeping a tight schedule to get things done. Which is why she had no qualms about asking Hannah to babysit at the last minute.

"I really need your help, he has a fever, I can't leave him at the childminder. Bring your computer, you can write from my house," she'd said like writing an erotic novel while watching over a five year-old was within the realms of possibility. She must have been really desperate to even suggest this.

"Isn't Alec staying at your house? Can't he do it?"

"No, he's working. Please hurry."

Hannah quickly threw on an outfit appropriate to run after a kid all day— skinny jeans and striped vest top— and made her way to Jackie's. Unlike last Sunday, the house was all topsy-turvy. Her sister apologized for the mess (but not for waking her up) and gave her a long list of instructions. Hannah had never taken care of a sick child before and was frankly a little terrified. Olly was uncharacteristically whiny and clingy, and she wanted nothing more than to make him feel better. It's probably why she agreed to cook Gummy Bear pancakes, they looked disgusting but they cheered him up.

They were in the middle of a game of Hide-and-seek when Hardy came back. She was hiding in the closet while Olly was counting, and she could see the boys through the space between the door and the jamb.

"Hey kiddo! How come you're home?"

He sat on his haunches to be eye-level with his nephew.

"I'm poorly."

"Who's taking care of you?" Hardy asked, placing the back of his hand on the child's forehead.

"Banana's here, she's hiding. You have to hide too!"

Before Alec could say anything, Olly had covered his eyes and started counting again. Their nephew was trying to resist the temptation of peeking through his fingers as his uncle searched for a hiding place.

As luck would have it, Hardy chose the same hiding place as her. He jumped in surprise when he found her. There was no time to find another place, Olly had nearly reached twenty, so she pulled him in by his tie.

"Hi Banana," he whispered.

"Hello."

"You gonna let go of my tie?"

"Oops, sorry."

She tried looking away from him, but in the cramped space he was in her field of view wherever her eyes settled. With the coats in the closet, there was very little space left for two adults, also Alec had to hunch over her because of the shelf above their heads.

He said something about stinky shoes, and she laughed nervously. She wished he weren't trying so hard to put as much space as possible between them.

She was anxious to ask him how he was feeling. She'd been worried about him since he'd left her at the park. Even more so after looking him up on the internet and finding out what he went through before coming to London. One killer had walked free after a trial, and the others, he'd arrested after everyone had lost faith they would ever be found. She only knew the facts that had been reported by the press, but it wasn't hard to imagine it must have affected him deeply. One piece in the Broadchurch Echo had really made her heart ache for him.

She may not be an escort anymore but the habit to help men feel better was still deeply ingrained in her. Not only that, but there was something about him that called out to her. What she'd gone through since leaving Ben two years ago, was very different but difficult nonetheless, she was still recovering. Hardship was not something that could be measured and compared. She thought maybe he'd understand what it was like to fight to keep your head above the water. And she wanted to let herself care about another human being again.

"Hannah?"

God help her, there was that soft look in his eyes again.

"I just wanted to say, that I…" He put a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"Found you!" Olly shouted, opening the closet door.

After that, she couldn't get Hardy alone again. They continued playing for a while, taking turns counting and looking for the others. For all his uneasiness around adults, Hardy was great with kids. To be honest, she was relieved to have a parent there with her. Especially when it became obvious that Olly needed to rest yet refused to go to bed.

"Listen Pickle, you need to rest or you won't feel better tomorrow," Hannah explained.

"I don't want to feel better, I want you to come back tomorrow."

His eyelids were drooping, and he was on the verge of tears. She looked over at Hardy for help.

"Here's what will do," he said, "we'll take your temperature and if it's fine you won't have to go to bed and we can continue playing, alright?"

"Okay," Olly replied weakly.

Hardy picked up the little boy in his arms and told Hannah to turn on the telly to CBeebies, _Story Time_ was on. He went to the bathroom to get the thermometer, then he settled Olly on Hannah's lap with his Spiderman blanky around his shoulders. They let him sing along the theme song before taking his temperature. By the time the thermometer beeped, Olly had already nodded off.

"Works every time," Hardy whispered.

They laid him down across their knees, and he twisted and turned drowsily. Eventually, he fell into a deep slumber in a strange position, the kind only kids can sleep through. His little chest rose and fell under the blanket she'd draped over him, and his hair had fallen over his eyes, not unlike Hardy's. She brushed the hair away from his forehead, it was damp.

"Will he be all right?" she asked in a low voice.

"Aye, don't worry," Alec reassured her, "I can look after him if you want to go."

After what had happened last time at the park, she couldn't be sure if he was just being nice or actually didn't like company.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No, no... Sorry about last time, I shouldn't have taken off like that."

"It's fine, you had your reasons."

"I had a good time, before," he admitted with a small smile.

"Yeah, me too."


	2. Chapter 2

I.

The next weekend her sister dumped Hardy at her house without a warning, like an unwanted baby on the doorstep of a covenant. For the first time in months, Olly was with his father on the same weekend that Kyle didn't have to work at the hospital. Jackie and her boyfriend needed to spend some quality time together alone in the house which involved getting rid of Hardy, the third wheel.

"Oh alright," Hannah gave in, understanding their need, "but I can only take him until 5, I've an appointment at the salon."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Jackie said.

"But you owe me, I'm going to Berlin next month, you'll have to take care of Sam."

Hardy watched the exchange without a word, his crossed arms and the scowl on his face were enough to express his thoughts. She gave him a sympathetic smile, hoping to ease some of his discontent. He must have felt like a burden to them.

It was a cool, rainy day that made her want to cook a big pot of vegetable soup. She asked Hardy to dice the carrots, and he settled at the counter, pushing back in shirtsleeves.

His small talk skills hadn't improved but she'd learned to appreciate that. He couldn't fake it, couldn't pretend. Some people talk all the time without truly saying anything, you never know what goes on in their heads. With Hardy, what you see is what you get. There was something deeply honest and authentic about him.

So, she did the same, she kept her worn out t-shirt on and didn't force any conversation.

They worked together without exchanging a word, _London Calling_ on the turntable, and the comforting smell of chicken broth filling the room. He seemed glad to be useful. When she pulled the onions out of the pantry, he took them out of her hands. "I'll do that," he said with a decisive tone she couldn't oppose. He'd spared her the stingy eyes and tears.

In the white and chrome kitchen, they moved around each other, a domestic ballet of sorts, although not quite as elegant since Hannah's puppy was often in their way, hoping to catch bits of food they'd dropped on the floor.

Afterwards, Alec started doing the dishes.

"It's the least I can do, considering…" he said as the sink filled with hot water and bubbles.

"Don't worry about it, I don't mind having you around. Earlier, I just wanted to make Jackie feel bad so she'd agree to take Sam."

"Still, you must have more interesting people to hang out with."

"Interesting— yes, but none of them would chop onions for me," she replied.

She picked a dish cloth and stood next to him, drying the silverware he'd just washed.

"You don't have to be nice to me," he said.

"And you don't have to be unpleasant about it."

She slapped his bum with the dish cloth. The mix of surprise and indignation on his face was priceless. But his features quickly softened. His brooding nature was no match for her playful one.

After lunch, they settled in the living room, Hannah painting her nails and Hardy sitting on the carpet with his back against the couch. He played with Sam, throwing its favourite toy across the room thus distracting the puppy and guarding her feet as the first coat of pink dried on her toenails. Some crime movie was on the telly. He tolerated her running commentary during the first half, then started a critique of his own about the sloppy police work. When _21 Jump Street_ began afterwards, he just about lost it.

From her spot on the couch, Hannah could only see the back of his head. His hair looked soft and thick, and her fingers itched to touch it. She wasn't usually one to forgo her desires. So she extended her arm, reaching for his head, and ran her fingers through his brown locks. She was not disappointed. Hardy leaned into her touch with a soft groan that made her smile. But he caught himself and quickly rose to his feet, startling Sam.

Without a word, he disappeared into the kitchen.

The rejection stung and left Hannah bemused. That man was so hard to read. Even when he came back from the kitchen with two cups of tea, he offered one to her with a tentative smile, yet he sat on the armchair, away from her. They sipped the Darjeeling tea in silence, both looking at Sam who was turning on himself to settle in a spot of sunshine on the floor. The rain had stopped and, as the clouds cleared, more light streamed in the room.

The awkwardness faded, and eventually they stopped paying attention to the dog in favour of conversing.

She asked about his work, a temporary assignment with the Metropolitan Police. He hosted general information sessions for potential recruits, reciting PR-approved messages and answering the same bloody questions time after time.

"They look like bairns, the lot of them, they want to be heroes, and I want to tell them: 'it'll eat you alive, this job'."

"Why do you do it? I mean, detective not the sessions."

He ran a hand through his hair and along his cheek, as he considered her question.

"I like the thrill of it, I'm good at it… and it's all I have now," he replied with a shrug.

"Yeah, I used to think like that."

She curled her legs under herself and rubbed an imaginary lipstick trace off the mug. If he stuck around long enough, she would tell him, but not right now.

"I'm waiting for a position to open where I used to work," he continued.

"Oh, you want to leave London?" she asked without even trying to hide her disappointment.

"My daughter's in Sandbrook and Tess too... might take months before it happens."

"Oh, okay."

Leaning forward, elbows on knees, Hardy sloshed the last of his tea around his cup and cleared his throat.

"I'll come back to London, to visit," he said

She bit her bottom lip and smiled.

"Yeah? Visit me?"

"And other people," he replied, looking intently at his feet.

"Oh, you make me feel so special."

He chuckled at that and finally looked up from his feet to meet her eyes. His words might not have made her feel special but that look certainly did. It triggered a pleasant tingling in her breastbone. He stood up from his seat and walked towards her, she straightened, thinking he might try to kiss her until he took the empty mug from her hands and left the room. With a sigh, she fell back against the cushion.

The information he'd revealed did shed some light on his behaviour. Maybe he was hoping to get back together with his ex-wife or didn't want to get attached to someone in London knowing he might leave. Either way, it didn't mean he wasn't attracted or interested in Hannah. In fact, before he left, they made plans to do something together that wasn't imposed by their siblings. He was the one to suggest it.

Whatever would happen (or not) between them, Hannah found it satisfying to have a new friend, someone fresh, who saw her as she was now and not the person she used to be.

* * *

II.

After much hesitation, Hannah chose a blue dress apparently simple and casual on the front but backless, revealing the dip of her lower back. An appropriate attire since she couldn't make up her mind about seducing Hardy or not. She liked him a lot, you see. It wouldn't be just a shag with him. Sex she could do, she had lovers for that, men with bodies like a Ken doll and about as many brain cells. But Hardy, he thrummed under her skin. The thought of his hand on her naked back thrilled her, but he was a divorced father who wanted to go back to his family. It spelled trouble for her already bruised heart.

From the top of the staircase, Hannah looked down at Hardy in the vestibule. He was pacing the narrow space, waiting for her to finish dressing up. In the mirror by the door, he looked at his reflection and attempted to smooth out his unruly hair. His nervousness was endearing. Once he was done, she walked down the stairs to meet him.

"You look nice," he said a bit dryly.

And he hadn't even seen the back of her dress yet.

He was wearing a wrinkle-free version of his usual charcoal suit and a striped tie that might actually belong to Kyle.

"You look nice too… just, can I…" She swiped a stray stand of hair from his forehead, "there."

"Bloody mop."

"You could use a trim. Shall we?"

When he opened the door for her, she made sure he got an eyeful.

She took him to a semi-secret lounge where she regularly met with her friends. She liked the elegant yet relaxed atmosphere. It was situated in the basement of a Turkish bakery, and a whiff of pistachios and honey seeped down in the bar, mixing with the bitter smell of malt.

She knew the barman, Kardir, his parents owned the bakery on the ground floor. She chatted with him about his trip to Ibiza, while Hardy scanned the menu of imported beers and expensive vodkas with a furrowed brow.

"Could you find a Carlsberg for him?" she asked Kadir.

"Don't…" Alec said, embarrassed.

"No worries, mate, all part of our superior customer service," the barman said, adding a leering smile for Hannah. "The usual for you, love?"

Alec paid for her drink, slapping the notes on the counter like he was making a point.

They sat down side by side on a white leather seat. Her wine glass and his green bottle were illuminated from under by the table, a glowing cube gently fazing through various colours. As they looked for something to say, a jazz quartet on the stage provided a welcomed distraction.

"Bit posh for me," he admitted finally.

"D'you want to go somewhere else?" He shook his head. "Okay, well you pick the place next time, yeah?"

And with that promise of another meeting, the conversation began to flow more easily.

Her favourite clients had always been the ones who were true gentlemen, those who opened the door for her, paid for her drinks, complimented her outfits and treated her like a lady. Hardy was a true gentleman. He may not be a smooth talker and his flirting was rusty at best, but he knew the etiquette. He called himself old-fashioned, laughing self-deprecatingly. "Good manners are timeless," she countered. And when a younger man tried to chat her up with some sexist pick-up line, she made sure he knew that Hardy could teach him a thing or two.

"That was brutal," Alec laughed.

"I've no time to waste with a bloke like that. Only the best for me," she said, a flirtatious smile gracing her ruby lips, "speaking of the best, I'll have more of that wine."

Alec took out his wallet.

She noticed he wasn't drinking more, and he revealed to her the health problems he'd had. He was in much better shape now, but he still had to keep a healthy lifestyle.

In return, she answered his questions about her work as a writer. She told him about a sex toys review for _Glamour_ and dirty short stories for _Modern Dungeon Quarterly_. That earned her some raised eyebrows, but he was more curious than judgemental. He took it all in stride, his questions were direct and she was franc in her answers. She even told him about her regular contracts with an event planning company specialized in elite orgies and the likes.

"Officially I'm a freelance client liaison, like, last month there was this voyeur party, right? And there was this lovely couple and it was their first time, so I arranged everything for them, showed them around, made sure they were comfortable and enjoying themselves," she explained.

She noticed a pink tinge peeking above the scruff on his cheeks, and she kept on telling him salacious stories just to see him squirm.

"You're blushing!"

"I'm not! It's hot in here," he replied, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt.

How easy it would be to place a hand high on his thigh and lean in to whisper in his ear: "does it turn you on?" But at this point, she wasn't sure how he would react to that. She went for a sultry look through her eyelashes and it only made him chuckle.

They moved on to other topics, non-sex related, and got into a Glasgow vs London argument.

When they left the bar, the bakery staff was just coming in for the night shift. She knew some of them, Kadir's sisters, and they gave her a bag of _lokum_ from yesterday's batch. "The best in London, real quality ingredients, not that gelatinous rubbish from the market," Hannah declared. She shared the mushy rosewater treats with Hardy as he walked her back home. He'd never tasted them before and grimaced at first, but admitted the texture was fun.

Her house was quite a few blocks away, but the night was so lovely. Good wine flowed through her veins and streetlights were a warm yellow, hot air wrapped around her legs and Alec was smiling at her.

It had been a long time since she'd felt this light, as if her lungs had been filled with helium, and she could have drifted up like a balloon. She suspected it was the same for him.

She was babbling on about something when they passed by an alley she recognized from one of the few things she regretted doing, and she deflated.

"Is that it?" he asked, studying her face. "You said you knew what if felt like, when the blues sweep over you."

He was more perceptive than she'd given him credit for. But she shrugged it off, muttering something about not boring him with her stories.

"You can trust me, I'm a police officer," he said in an attempt at humour.

She snorted.

"In my experience that doesn't guarantee anything."

"And what experience is that?" he asked.

"Nothing, you know, I'm just saying—"

"No, you're not."

She shied away from his inquisitive gaze, tucking her chin in her shoulder. She closed her eyes briefly. She remembered what Harry Keagan had told her once: "Our relationships, they're fine but they're not real". She knew now that it had nothing to do with her personality and everything to do with the secrets she kept. She'd taken a vow of honesty at the beginning of this year, it was difficult at times, but fundamental. She squared her shoulders.

"I had sex with a man in that alley we just passed. He was a detective, not a very honorable one, not like you," Hannah said.

Hardy grew quiet, and she feared she'd said too much, until he asked:

"Why is that… difficult for you to think about?"

"It's a complicated story but some of the things he said to me, he made me think that I didn't need someone who was nice and kind to me. It's hard to explain but somehow, I started believing that I didn't deserve that person, or any other, and all my relationships went to hell after that."

Her heart clenched at the memory of Ben and the heartache that belief had brought on.

"I'm sure you do deserve someone nice," Alec offered.

She didn't take much comfort in that platitude, but she appreciated the sentiment.

They walked another block in silence, her high heels clinking on the pavement. Unlike him, she didn't want to be alone when she felt like this. More than ever, she longed to feel his hand on her back, it would bring her solace and strength as well. She moved closer to him, but he stepped down the sidewalk.

"Anyway, it's all in the past," she said.

"I'm tired of the past." His voice was weary.

They reached her neighbourhood, then her house. Instead of unlocking the door and going in, she sat down on the concrete steps in the dim glow of the porch light. She rubbed her legs nervously. Hardy looked at her askance, and she tugged on his cuff, encouraging him to sit down next to her. She wanted to end the night on a high note, not in melancholy.

They both looked up at the night sky which was never truly black in London, like a saffron mist rising from the cityscape and dusting the stars. Some called it pollution, but she found comfort in the ever-present light.

"Tell me something funny about yourself," she demanded.

He hesitated and scrunched up his face in a way that told her this was going to be good.

"I'm only admitting this because it's you, okay?" he said, "I knit."

"What? No! You're having me on."

He explained that his sister had taken on knitting when she was visiting him in Broadchurch. She'd read somewhere that it was good for the heart, because it reduced stress, so she'd had him help her out. Eventually, he'd started his own scarf and he'd kept at it because it did relieve stress.

"You really have to focus on what you're doing, you can't think about anything else," he insisted.

She found it utterly endearing, not just the thought of him knitting— which made for hilarious scenarios in her head— but that he was willing to admit it to a woman.

"Will you knit me something?"

"Didn't say I was any good at it... maybe if you tell me something embarrassing about yourself too."

"Let's see," she said, resting her chin on her steeple fingers. "Ok, I once went on a date, a first date at that, in a restaurant, with a mustache drawn on. I only realized it was there when my date pointed it out."

She told him a few other embarrassing stories, carefully replacing 'client' with 'friend', and making him chuckle. Every bit of laughter from him was a reward.

"You don't take yourself very seriously." he said.

"I do actually, sometimes too much. So laughing at myself, like this, that's good."

He must have found some wisdom in her statement for he proceeded to tell her a very embarrassing story involving losing his swim trunks in a water slide. His daughter had been with him at the time, and she'd helped him out by bringing her princess towel in the swimming pool so he could cover up. There was an unmistakable warmth in his voice as he talked about Daisy. It was obvious he missed her.

"Why are you in London if you want to go back to Sandbrook?" Hannah asked.

"Money," he said.

"Oh, and here I was, letting you pay for my drinks."

He waved off her concern.

"Back in Broadchurch, I was sort of helping out someone, had to pay for a lot of things, and I didn't really have a job anymore. So, I'm abusing my brother's generosity for now. I helped him through medical school, he owes me…"

How galling it must be to solve a case everyone had given up on only to end up sleeping on his brother's couch and working a job he disliked. Yet he kept his head high with an air of determination about him.

"I'm trying to make things right," he said, "I'm nearly there, Hannah."

Making things right meant leaving London. She felt the strain in her own smile, and he noticed it too. His eyes lingered on her lips then slid away.

Hannah had no idea how long they'd been sitting outside, but it was getting late, all the neighbours had turned off their lights and no cars drove by anymore. They hadn't said a word in a while too, yet Hardy gave no indication of leaving. Not that she wanted him to. Not at all.

"You all right?" he asked gently.

"Yeah."

"You know, how you were saying earlier, I don't think anyone gets to decide who deserves someone nice, and who doesn't."

"I decided for myself," she replied, holding his gaze.

"We all need some kindness, Hannah."

He told her about Ellie who'd been nice to him when he certainly didn't deserve it. In return, he'd tried to be there for her when she needed it.

Cutting nice people out of her life wouldn't make her a better person.

She was starting to understand that, but the way he put it, so plain and simple, it made even more sense. She'd been reconnecting with her family and had been stalking Ben on Facebook, to try and reach out to the world again. It was why she was having this conversation with Hardy rather than shagging him, although maybe they'd done enough talking for now.

For the first time tonight, she noticed his cologne, something fresh with woodsy undertones like cedar. Subtle and manly, it suited him, and made her want to press her nose in the crook of his neck.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, curving her spine. His eyes drifted to her naked back, and she held her breath.

"How does that not slip off you?" he asked, touching her sleeve.

"There a tie at the top, see?"

She swiped her hair to the side, revealing the thin ribbon behind her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his adam's apple bob. He brushed the little bow, carefully, as if it might come undone under his touch. Slowly, he let his fingers trail down her spine, and spread his whole hand on her lower back. Her eyes fluttered shut as the warmth of his palm seeped into her flesh and her veins.

"Hardy?" Her voice was hoarser than she'd expected. "Will you come inside with me?"

"…Best not."

He removed his hand from her back and brushed imaginary specks off his trouser. She thought he would stand up and leave, but he stayed right where he was.

"Can you stay out here with me, then?" she asked.

"Yeah."

He put his jacket over her back. Hesitantly, she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"This all right?"

He nodded and put an arm around her, tugging her closer.

She had someone to lean on now, and so did he.

* * *

III.

Two days later, Hannah received a call from her sister. Apparently, Hardy had been talking about her and had mentioned he wanted to take her out next Friday. The point of Jackie's call was to warn Hannah and dissuade her from going out with Hardy again. She couldn't believe her sister had the nerve to even suggest this.

"I don't need your approval to see him, Jackie. What's it got to do with you anyway?"

"I'm not worried about me… did he tell you he's going back to Sandbrook?"

"Yeah, but it'll be a while before it happens."

"He's leaving next week."

Hannah's heart dropped, and she felt tears prickle her eyes.

"What? But…"

"It's you I'm worried about," Jackie continued. "We may have our differences but you're still my little sister."

"Thanks."

"So, what will you do if he calls?"

"I don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Many thank to my beta, the wonderful Fadewithfury

* * *

I.

On days like today, Hannah wished she was still a smoker. She lay sideways on her bed, in a vest top and knickers, she'd been in the middle of changing the sheets but didn't feel like it anymore. Pulling strands of hair in front of her eyes, she wondered if she should go a shade darker next time. She wondered what to buy Olly for his birthday. She wondered if Hardy would call.

Jackie had said he would invite her to go out again before leaving for Sandbrook. Well, he hadn't. She was going to tell him no anyway. There was no point in seeing a man so hell-bent on getting back together with a wife who'd rejected him. For the last two days she'd been trying to figure out how to tell him "you don't know what you're missing" without sounding bitter.

Still, she wished he would call just so she could turn him down. And there was still a chance that Jackie had been wrong, maybe she'd misunderstood, maybe he'd stay a while longer in London. Hannah slipped a hand under her top, stroking her own stomach as she remembered the heat that had blossomed in there the rare times he'd touched her, or even just when he had looked at her.

With a frustrated groan, Hannah turned on her front and picked up her mobile from the bedside table. She scrolled through her contacts and recent calls. She didn't have Alec's phone number, and she wasn't sure he had hers. The only time he'd called, it was from Jackie's landline. It was too late at night to call now.

She scrolled further down in her contact list and saw the name of one of her friends, Charles, and decided to ring him. They always had a good time together, if only superficially. But that's what she needed right now. No deep conversations, no reveals about each other's past, no longing. Cheap thrills only. They didn't linger on, didn't keep her awake at night. She'd never see Charles again and it wouldn't make a difference.

* * *

II.

Hannah sat on her living room floor, folding clean towels from the laundry basket, her phone was on the coffee table in front of her, on speaker. Olly had called fifteen minutes ago— her number was on speed dial on the home phone— and as it often were, it was more of a monologue than a dialogue. She listened to his stream of consciousness as he played. Every once in a while she asked what his superhero figurines were up to, reminding him she was on the line, and it kept him going. It was like remote babysitting while Jackie cooked dinner.

She could hear muffled voices and giggles now, and she picked up the phone.

"No, I'm talking to Banana," her nephew said, it sounded like his head was away from the receiver.

"Pickle?"

She heard his high-pitched giggle again before he asked:

"What are you doing Friday night?"

"I don't know, maybe I'll go to the cinema," she answered, "Do you have any big plans, Pickle?"

"Do you want to…" she heard whispers again, "to go out with Zucchini Friday night?"

She had an inkling of who "Zucchini" was. She smiled at his adorable strategy, whether it was planned or not. After much negotiation, Olly agreed to put the mysterious whisperer on the line.

"Zucchini?"

"Dunno where he got that. So, Friday?"

"Yeah, I can't Friday, I'm going to the cinema," Hannah said.

"Go another night."

"I really want to see that movie."

"What is it?"

"… Titanic," Hannah winced, "the sequel… my friend's in it, he plays Leonardo Dicaprio's ghost… I'm going with him, my friend, the actor."

"Right."

She wanted to hit her forehead on the coffee table.

"We could go out another night," Hannah suggested.

If he agreed it would mean he wasn't really leaving. She wasn't sure why she was skirting around the issue so much, but she couldn't bring herself to ask directly. It had to come from him somehow. Or maybe she wanted at least one thread of hope to hold on to.

"I don't know," was all he said.

He passed the phone back to Olly

* * *

III.

She did go to the cinema, a romantic comedy of all things. The whole plot revolved around miscommunication, and now she was back home, feeling very silly indeed. It was already past ten o'clock, but it didn't stop her from calling Jackie's house this time. Kyle was reluctant to pass the phone to Alec who was already under the covers on the sofa bed, but he relented.

"What?" was the only greeting she got from Hardy.

"Were you asleep? It's only ten. How old are you, gramps?"

"Hannah? Did you call just to insult me?"

"It's just one of the many perks of being my friend, along with my charming personality and late phone calls because I've changed my mind. So, what are you doing tonight?"

"I'm taking you to a billiard room."

He gave her an address on Old Queen street. It was near the National Crime Agency he'd visited a few times for work. With his colleagues, it had become a tradition to go to that billiard room after a meeting or a conference.

She arrived before him and waited outside by the entrance. Even at this hour the street was full of people. Groups were gathered outside pubs, drinking and smoking and laughing out loud. The liveliness combined with the excitement of spending another night with Hardy, filled her with energy. A current buzzed in her legs, making her want to run or dance, and when he arrived she literally skipped up to him. Any remaining sleepiness in his eyes vanished at the sight of her.

She thought he would be dressed more casually tonight, but he had a tie and jacket on as usual. She understood why when they entered the place. The billiard room was the classic type: lacquered dark wood, green leather, even a cigar room. It was on the fifth floor and the whole back wall was made of windows overlooking Parliament square. Big Ben's round clock shined like a second moon in the night sky. A maitre d' type in a jacket with tails, showed them to the last available table.

"And you thought my basement bar was posh."

"Different kind of posh," he said with a shrug.

"You meant cool, it was too cool for you," she teased him.

Hardy was a skilled player. . Back when he lived in Glasgow, his uncle owned a pub with several tables, and he'd let Alec come in to practice and get away from his home.

He tried to teach Hannah about angles of incidence and reflection, and she lured him into touching her by pretending she wanted to improve her aim. However, it quickly became clear that she was more interested in making inappropriate jokes about balls and cues ("You know, in French, it's slang for cock").

She sat in a wingback chair with her second vodka-soda and cheered every time Hardy pocketed a ball. She laid it on thick at first, but was genuinely impressed by some of the trick shots he used.

"You are cool after all," she said, "in a Cary Grand sort of way."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a compliment, you moppet."

There was a group of foreign ambassadors at the next table, ties hanging loose around their necks, they drank more glasses than they hit balls. They leered her way every time Hardy left her side. When he went to the loo, one of the men approached her. Up close, she noticed a mole above his upper lip, and she recognized him: he'd been a client.

"Hello there beautiful, you free tonight?"

"I'm sorry gentlemen, but I'm not, I can't tonight."

"C'mon, we can show you a good time," he insisted, as his friends moved closer.

When she turned down his offer less tactfully, he pulled money out of his wallet and waggled it in front of her nose. She glanced over at the bathroom door and saw Hardy coming out. She didn't want him to find out this way, especially not tonight. She had no choice but to push past the group of men. She felt their wanderings hands upon her and shivered.

"You all right?" Hardy asked when he saw her.

"Yeah, s'just— can we go?"

"Look, if those men were—"

"Just leave it, it's fine."

She could tell he was about to protest more, so she took his hand and guided him out of the building. The contact caught him so off guard, he shut up. When they reached the street, he stopped her and stroke the back of her hand with his thumb.

"I knew that man, in another life," she explained, "it's nothing."

He didn't seem to agree with her but he didn't argue. Much to her disappointment, he let go of her hand.

At least, just like her, he didn't want to go back home just yet. So they started walking, aimlessly, looking for a place that would strike their fancy, although neither of them felt like going inside.

He had yet to say anything about leaving London, and she didn't ask him about it either.

Hannah loved this time of year during which London was truly alive around the clock. During the day, Londoners, like sunflowers, turned their faces towards the sky— and then cursed the heat, of course. At night, they filled the streets they had neglected during the winter. There was a festive quality to the atmosphere, the air smelled like popcorn with whiffs of green from the blooming parks. Even the Thames seemed clearer, she noticed as they crossed Waterloo Bridge. Rather than its usual sluggish flow, it streamed swiftly, carrying party boats and touristic cruises.

When they reached the South Bank, they took the sidewalk along the river. Strings of lights were hung between old fashion lampposts and in the trees. Living statues in elaborate costumes with their faces painted gold, entertained the passersby. Alec and Hannah stopped and leaned side by side on the parapet.

"Do you know what I like about London?" Hardy said.

"Me?" she couldn't help but say.

She bumped him with her shoulder, and he bumped her right back with a crooked smile.

"The anonymity," he said, "nobody cares. You don't make the front page of the paper because you're new in town, there's no bloody gossiping, no rubberneckers. You do your own thing and it's no one's business."

"Except for my sister," Hannah said.

In Broadchurch, and even in Sandbrook with his last case, he had been under the scrutiny of the citizen, not to mention the watchful eyes of the press and of his superiors. Here, he was free to do as he pleased without having to worry about that. It was liberating.

She'd fully taken advantage of that anonymity both when she was an escort and after. You can get a fresh start any day of the week. No one will know. It can be lonely if you don't have at least one good friend, as she'd found out after losing Ben, but if you have that one person, it's the best city in the world.

She led Hardy through a maze of little streets she knew by heart. On a corner, there was an old woman, Ex-USSR type with a handkerchief tied under her neck. She was sitting on an upside-down rubbish bin, playing a cheerful tune on her accordion. It sounded like the soundtrack to a movie scene in Paris. An American family with teenagers was listening to her. Hardy chucked a handful of change in her bucket.

"You make pretty lady dance," the woman said, pointing at Hannah with a half-toothed smile.

With a surprising lack of hesitation, Hardy took her hand and raised it to make Hannah twirl. She giggled as her red skirt lifted around her. She felt light-headed, drunk even. She wobbled, and he caught her just in time.

"You're pissed."

"I'm not!"

"Okay then, another one? It's the only dancing I know."

"Another one," she agreed, and he made her twirl once more.

The old woman applauded, then resumed playing the accordion. The cheerful melody followed them for a while, echoing between the brick buildings, as they walked away.

They hadn't paid attention to where they were going, and had strayed away from the crowd and animation.

"We should go back the other way," Hardy said.

At the same moment, a lightning strike ripped the night sky. Before Hannah could say "uh oh", it started raining, loud and heavy. A few meters ahead, there was a viaduct and they scampered off to find shelter from the rain. They were soaked nonetheless. Hannah wrung her hair and skirt as Hardy removed his jacket and shook it. His hair was flat on his head, water running down his cheeks. Under there, the noise of raindrops hitting concrete and metal was amplified, deafening. Another lightning strike made her jump.

"Just a summer shower," he said, "it'll be over soon."

Hannah looked over at him, and their eyes met. They held each other's gaze without flinching or shying away. She'd never wanted to need someone. But here he was, broken yet solid. She could have trusted him.

"You're leaving," Hannah said with a lump in her throat.

"I have to."

"It's not fair."

"They need me to properly close the case and for the trial… and I need to try and make things right with Daisy and Tess."

And she loved him more for it, for wanting to do the right thing, the selfless thing, even in this fucked up world.

"Of course," she said dryly.

"I didn't know, I'd…" he sighed and clenched his jaw.

Hannah wrapped her arms around her mid-section, hugging herself for warmth. Hands in his pocket, Hardy hung his head, and kicked pebbles on the sidewalk. There was nothing more to say, nothing that would make this easier. Impending goodbyes weighed down their hearts.

The drumming rain dwindled to a mist, and then vanished, leaving large puddles in the streets and thick humidity in the air. With long strides, Hannah walked out from under the viaduct without really knowing where she was going. Hardy followed and caught up to her.

As they walked in silent, the London Eye came into view.

"Ever did that?" Alec asked, and it sounded almost like an invitation.

"No, but I'll try anything once."

Hannah smiled, a bit too brightly, something uneasy in the curve of her lips. There was a finality to their earlier exchange, yet they pushed past those limits, extending the night beyond its natural ending point. It took a lot of effort, there was a strain to their movements and words. Jokes were forced as was laughter. They avoided looking at the other.

The attraction was closing when they got there. Only two groups remained in the capsules and one of them was currently disembarking. Hannah knocked on the cashier's window. The woman in the kiosk shook her head and pointed at a sign with the opening hours.

"Shit. Show her your badge."

Hardy frowned at her suggestion. Instead, Hannah waved a 100 pound note in front of the cashier's face, waggling her eyebrows.

"All right, go on, one ride, but no funny business in there," she warned them.

The Ferris wheel was slow enough that it didn't have to stop for people to walk into the capsules. It was more spacious than she'd expected and the curved windows from top to bottom gave it a futuristic look.

Alone in the capsule, the tension was palpable. To make up for the awkwardness, she babbled, pointing various London landmarks and places she liked. He wasn't really listening though, nor was he looking at the landscape. His gaze on her. She closed her eyes, feeling the city lights pass over her face. After a moment, his fingers brushed softly against her temple to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He rested his hand on her shoulder, thumb stroking the edge of her collarbone. She couldn't look at him, she felt overwhelmed enough as it was.

"It's not fair," she said again, this time her voice was thick and wet, "I know I don't get a say, but for the record, I really wish you wouldn't leave."

"I know… Come here," he said, pulling lightly on her shoulder, inviting her closer.

After a moment of hesitation, she closed the gap between their bodies. He held her close for the rest of the ride, with a hand on the back of her head and his lips pressed to her hair.


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter rated M

This is the last part, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :)

* * *

I.

An idea sprung into Hannah's head on the flight back from Berlin. A silly little thing. One of those scenarios you make up in your mind. It passes the time, it makes you smile. Your brain knows it's improbable, but your heart fills with hope. And you inevitably end up disappointed.

She thought: "what if Hardy's waiting for me at the airport?" And just like that, a whole scenario, right out of a romcom, had formed in her head.

She'd jump in his arms and the flower bouquet he'd bought for her would get crushed. He'd apologize for not calling. He would hold her like he had on the London Eye, the way that had made her feel so safe and cherished. Only this time his lips, at first pressed to her hair, would move to her temple and cheek, and seek her mouth. And they'd kiss slowly, standing amongst the bustling crowd.

The more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. For one thing, she'd told Alec about her trip to Berlin. Plus, he'd left London almost a month ago, he was bound to return soon. He did say he was going to visit. Olly's birthday was coming up, and she knew he'd been invited for the occasion. Moreover, Jackie was taking care of Sam during her absence, and Hannah had given her a list of instructions including her flight details. She distinctly remembered that her sister had put the information up on her fridge door. Alec could have seen it if he was in town.

The descent towards British soil began. Butterflies rose in the pit of her stomach. The plane hit the tarmac, and she stared at the seatbelt sign, fingers poised at the buckle. As she deplaned, she scolded her heart for beating faster. Yet, in the grey corridor leading to the baggage claim, she hurried past slower passengers. The carry-on suitcase was her only luggage. She briskly navigated the corridors of Heathrow which she knew by heart, coming to a halt at the customs.

While waiting in line, she checked her phone: five missed calls, two from Jackie's, three from a confidential number. Are detective's phone numbers confidential? She seemed to recall that Harry's was. Or was that just her memory playing tricks on her?

She called her sister but only got her answering machine. Annoyed, she tapped her foot and sighed. The line was moving slowly. To top it off, the customs officer was a zealous one.

"Could you hurry up? I've got someone waiting for me," she said like it was a fact and not mere wishful thinking.

"Just doin' my job, ma'am. Open your suitcase please."

The officer took perverse pleasure in meticulously going through her luggage to make her wait. He cocked an eyebrow at the amount her lingerie she'd purchased, and went as far as showing a corset to his co-worker.

Hannah seethed.

What if it took so long that Alec thought he'd missed her and left? If only she had his number. Even then, what would she say? "Hi Alec, we haven't talked in a month, but just in case you were planning on surprising me at the airport, I thought I'd let you know the custom's officer is a wanker." He'd laugh at her. She liked his laugh.

At long last, the officer let her go. She all but ran towards the exit doors. She scanned the crowd on the other side. There were many men in dark suits, but none of them Hardy. Maybe he was dressed differently. But he was nowhere to be seen. She was berating herself for hoping when she noticed someone jogging up from the far end of the corridor: brown hair, beard. She held her breath. Her heartrate picked up.

It wasn't him. He wasn't there, nor anyone else for that matter, and she dug her nails in her palms thinking of could-have-beens.

She took a cab to her sister's house. She'd promised to pick up her dog right away upon arriving, and to be honest, she could use a bit of familiar company.

Both her dog and nephew ran up to her as soon as she passed the threshold and practically knocked her to the floor. She couldn't stop laughing under the assault of hugs and licks. Jackie looked at them with a tender, motherly smile.

Hannah doled out the gifts she'd brought back from her trip, and Olly begged his mother to let his auntie stay for dinner. Around the table, they had a lively discussion about her trip and their summer vacations. It reminded her of family dinners when she was younger, arguing and joking all at once. A far cry from her time in Berlin where she'd met wonderfully eccentric people and attended a party at the embassy. But she'd learned that she needed both extremes to balance out her life.

Despite this enjoyable family dinner, she hadn't forgotten her disappointment at the airport. Before Hardy had left London, they'd made vague promises to keep in touch. Considering the situation, she reckoned he had to take the first step. In reality, she'd thought— she'd hoped— that she would stop thinking about him. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. But it was useless, he was on her mind most days.

After the meal, she found herself alone in the dining room with Kyle and decided to seize the opportunity to ask after his brother. She affected a casual air, running a finger around the rim of her tea cup.

"Any news from Alec?"

Kyle slumped down in his chair, hands laced over his full belly, as he tried to remember.

"Yeah, the court hearing for Ashworth is coming up next week, I think. Hasn't he told you? He asked for your phone number the last time he called."

"Really? He hasn't called, I don't think so."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Well, I gave it to him, but I told him he best not call you if he wants to fix his marriage, right?"

Hannah felt her temper rise.

"It's not any of your business, Kyle. Besides, Alec and I are just friends."

He scoffed.

"You expect me to believe that? He'd go out with you and come back in the wee hours," Kyle replied, "and you know how you are."

"What's that supposed to mean," Jackie asked as she entered the room. She glared at her boyfriend, and he shrank in his chair.

"Come, I'll give it to you."

Hannah followed her sister to the living room where she was given Alec's number. Jackie glanced towards the dining room and moved closer to Hannah to whisper: "You know, if Olly's father wanted us to get back, I'd give it another try. So think it through, Hannah, before calling him, there's a child involved."

She didn't take kindly to being told what to do as if she was stupid. She wanted to insist once again that they were just friends, if not a typical friendship.

Still, she had every intention to mind that advice, but she was only as strong as the day was long. When night came, and she found herself alone in the empty house, it was easy to forget the reasons why she shouldn't call him. A few days passed, until one night she was bored yet restless. Hungry but not for food. Her skin itched and her nails scratched too deep.

She poured herself a glass of wine and opened the windows wide. It smelled like the leaves were turning yellow, like decaying sap and worms in muggy soil, and she thought he must be sleepless too.

She texted him: "are you awake?"

Chewing her nails, she awaited his reply. A minute later, he rang her, and air returned to her lungs.

"Hannah?"

She bit back a smile at the sound of her name on his tongue.

"Hi! How are you?"

"Fine, you?"

"I'm fine."

There was a moment of awkward silence, and she disliked that they were back at square one after being so close. She sank in the couch, knees close to her chest.

"Weather says Autumn will come early this year," he said.

She laughed, remembering their conversation about small talk. It loosened the knot in her stomach.

"Oh, meteorology, it's no better than astrology," she joked, "What have you been up to?"

He told her about an autopsy, his daughter's crush, the price of petrol in Sandbrook. He was staying at a hotel, paid for by the police department. The laundry detergent they used gave him a rash.

He talked like a narrator, removed from the story.

You're so far from yourself, she wanted to say.

Her heart went out to him like it had so many times before, she might as well give it all to him.

Nothing was said about Tess. And Hannah was too afraid to ask.

She didn't tell him about her fling in Berlin. Neither did she tell him about her writer's block. She hadn't written a word in the last weeks. In her mind, ideas were wrapped in fog and words were evanescent.

"Olly misses you," she blurted out when the call was about to end.

He chuckled quietly.

"I miss you too… Night, Hannah."

#

"Wha'?"

"I've cut myself," she whined.

"Hannah?" he said her name in a low voice, she could hear people around him, he must have been at work.

"Yeah, I was chopping vegetables, I chipped my nail too."

"Put on a plaster," he replied, annoyed.

"I did."

"What d'you call me for, then?"

"I don't know."

That superficial cut was the straw that broke the camel's back after refusing a contract this morning on account of her writer's block. She'd just needed to share her frustration. Hardy didn't say anything, but he didn't hang up either. They listened to each other's breath for a while. Her irritation faded, just knowing he was on the other end of the line.

"I'm wearing two different socks," he said.

"Like two different colours?"

"One's paler, doesn't really show, but I can feel it, you know, in my shoes, it's a different texture. It's bloody annoying."

"Must be hell for you."

"You mocking my pain, Baxter?" he laughed. "Listen, I gotta go."

"Alright, bye… thanks."

"Anytime."

#

She reckoned she could always blame it on the full moon. Or on the surge in temperature that left her hot and bothered in the middle of the night.

Even at this hour, Hardy picked up on the first ring. He sounded sleepy, but there was a smile in his voice. She told him about her writer's block this time. The choice of subject wasn't innocent. Hardy knew full well the kind of stories she was writing. And it wasn't just about a need to share her frustration. Or at least not her professional frustration.

"I always come back to the same idea, and it's not something I can write about."

She said the words like confession, voice an octave lower, honey coating her tongue. She lured him onto this slippery slope.

He took the bait.

"What idea is that?"

"A couple inside the London Eye."

"The London Eye?" his voice croaked a bit on the last word.

"Yeah, the man behind the woman, her skirt raised over her hips, his mouth on her neck…"

She heard his breath hitch and pressed her thighs together.

"I like to imagine the fog of their breath on the window, obscuring the view, and all of London under them as they come."

Alec cleared his throat.

"Yeah, that's— it's a nice image."

"But I can't use commercial names in assignments for magazines," she added, throwing him off.

"Right, no… do you, erm, maybe have other ideas you'd like to write about?"

She smirked and reclined in her bed against the pillows.

"I do. Would you like to hear them?"

"I suppose I can spare a few minutes, you know, to help you get over this writer's block."

"Oh, how generous of you."

She ran a thumb under the waistband of her shorts as she whispered erotic scenarios into the receiver.

Before long, he told her he had to hang up, and there wasn't a doubt in her mind that he would indulge in the same activity as her.

* * *

II.

The next time she heard from him, it was through his brother. They'd exchanged a few texts since his last call three weeks ago, but nothing substantial. She'd gathered he was very busy, still she couldn't help but wonder what was really going on. So, when Kyle asked her to help out Alec in his search for a flat in London, she practically fell off her chair.

"He could use the help of someone who really knows the city."

"I didn't even know he was coming back."

She had half a mind not to help him at all. Insulted as she was that he hadn't said a thing about it. Then again, it wasn't so surprising coming from him.

In the end, she did go over to Jackie's, intent on scolding him for his silence. But when she saw him, well, she wasn't so mad anymore.

"Hey you," she said, tilting her head.

After the initial surprise of seeing her, his face broke into a grin, and her heart skipped a beat. Her legs fizzled with energy, ready to spring and hug him. She took a step forward, he took a step back. Oh. Square one, again.

Everyone else was out for the day. They sat together at the table. He traced the pattern of the tablecloth with his index, giving her an opportunity to study his features. His face was grim, his lips pressed in a thin line, dark circles under his eyes.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Yep."

"How come you're back?"

"The Met offered me a full time teaching job," he explained, voice devoid of emotions.

"I thought you hated that."

"It pays the bills."

"But, what about the job in Sandbrook. What happened?"

"I did what I had to do."

"Hardy?"

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he stood up abruptly, the chair legs screeching against the tiles. Without a word, he left the room. He came back with a stack of newspapers which he tossed on the table. Pen in hand, glasses on, he started looking through the classified ads.

"C'mon, talk to me," Hannah insisted, "something's wrong."

"You don't have to help me," he replied without looking up from the paper.

"You're such a twat."

"So I've been told."

He finally looked up at her over his glasses, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

"Why are you looking in the papers for? It's the 21st century, Hardy."

She took her iPad out of her bag, and together they looked through the ads. She figured he would tell her eventually what was going on, but she'd underestimated his capacity to close up.

He had a very limited budget for now and no furniture, all his belongings were currently piled in the back of a second-hand Volvo. She helped him pick the best neighbourhoods and the easiest way to get to work from there. He made a few calls for visits in the afternoon. They were efficient but had no fun.

She insisted on visiting the flats with him. It wasn't just about spending time with him, it was about not leaving him alone. Moving to a new city, away from his family, it had to be galling. He didn't have to go through that by himself.

"Naw, don't bother coming with me," he said.

"You could use my help, I speak Londoner. Besides, I like snooping in other people's homes."

Finally, something softened in his eyes, an affectionate glimmer that was over too quickly.

"I got something for you."

He looked through his duffel bag and pulled out a pair of long blue knit socks. She remembered asking him if he would knit her something. She rubbed the soft wool between her fingers. They were not your grandma's phentex slippers, that was for sure. They had a lovely lacy pattern and mother-of-pearl buttons at the top.

"You didn't make that, did you?"

Alec snorted.

"Naw, there was a craft fair in the square by the station, I thought of you," he mumbled, "you don't have to wear them, it's stupid."

"I like them, thank you."

He nodded briefly.

"Now come on, Baxter."

He was out the door before she could say another word. She took one last look at the socks, shaking her head with a smile. Then she followed him to the underground garage.

Even though she usually navigated the city by cab, Hannah did have a good sense of direction in central London. That, and satnav on her phone. Unfortunately, Hardy wasn't too keen on being told by someone else which way to go. Even less so by a machine. A misplaced sense of pride perhaps, or some dormant Neanderthal genes. Whatever it was, she rapidly stopped arguing with him. She let him get lost. He had to learn the lay out of the city somehow. They miraculously made it to the first block of flat, albeit half-an-hour late.

"So, how did we meet?" Hannah asked, linking her arm with his as they walked towards the first building, "What's our back story? In case the landlord asks. You're more likely to get the flat if you have a girlfriend, stability, they like that in a tenant."

"Lodging discrimination based on marital status is against the law," he replied, reclaiming his arm.

"You think that stops them?"

The first place they visited was downright disgusting, and she thanked her lucky star she'd been wise with her money, if not in other aspects of her life. The other places, were not as bad, but were all somewhat depressing in their own way.

They'd visited five different flats and Hardy's mood was worsening. In her opinion, the one before last was the best he'd be able to find in his price range, but he disagreed. She was starting to think he didn't really want to find a place to stay.

They were walking back to his car when he stopped dead in his tracks.

"I can't," he declared.

"How d'you mean? We're almost done."

Hardy clenched his jaw and fists, he was breathing heavily.

"It's those shitty, tiny flats. I can see myself eating alone in there while Dave sits at my table with my daughter and my—Tess," he said, lips curling in an angry snarl. "I tried, I really did, went back to Sandbrook, to my old life. I thought, once I'd solve this case, I would've done my penance, things would go back to normal. I really thought it'd be that easy!" He scoffed. "But they moved on, while I was doing that, they moved on and now I'm too far behind to catch up. And I'm still angry, so bloody angry, but it's at myself cos I screwed it up. Not Claire, not Ashworth, not Tess, so… I can't, it's all over, it's too late."

He looked so defeated she couldn't take it. Hannah's heart ached for him, she wanted to say something reassuring but couldn't find the right words. She put an arm around his shoulders but he shrugged her off.

"And you!" he added angrily.

"Me? I've been nothing but nice to you!"

"Yeah, exactly, why d'you have to be so, so…"

He looked at her, panting and then he was on her. With a hand behind her neck, he pulled her to him, crushing his lips against her mouth. Hannah pushed on his chest until he backed off.

"What's the matter with you?" she shouted.

"I thought you wanted—"

"Not like this!"

"Shit!"

He stepped away from her and placed his hands flat against a brick wall, hanging his head.

"Go," he said after a while.

"No way."

He insisted, even yelled at her, attracting the attention of passersby.

Why am I even putting up with him? Hannah wondered. But his hurt was written plainly on his face, she knew he wasn't always like that. Grumpy— yes, but not callous.

She looked through her bag to find her keys, and handed him a spare key to her house. She worried her bottom lip, wondering if this really was the right thing to do.

"You're such a knobhead," she said, "But if you've calmed down, I've got a guest bedroom for you, temporarily. Better than Kyle's couch."

He hesitated so she placed the key in his pocket. She hailed a taxi and left him behind.

Back at her home, she decided to take a bath. She'd gone a little overboard at _Lush_ last week and had bought every kind of bath bomb available. She settled in for a good soak as the ball fizzled, turning the water pink and cherry-scented. She leaned back against an inflatable pillow and closed her eyes.

She thought back on what Hardy had said about people moving on while he was immersed in his work. She'd been in a similar situation, losing touch with "normal" life because of her work.

After ending her relationship with Ben, she'd spent two years underwater. That's the best word she could find to describe it— she may be a writer but she was no Shakespeare. Two years of living at night, of fucking Harry in random places (until he got married, ironically enough), taking on client after client. She'd even relied on them for company in a completely unprofessional manner. Two years. She'd lost contact with her family, with Bambi.

Her outfits and make up had become more outrageous, far from her "fabulous but forgettable" rule. She'd lost some clients because of that. She realized now that she wanted to get caught: she had to manufacture the thrill of walking into a hotel to meet a new client because it wasn't there anymore.

She wasn't unhappy per se, but it wasn't fulfilling. It had taken her a while to realize that and even longer to do something about it, but ultimately she'd had to cut ties entirely with that environment.

Mending past relationships hadn't been easy. And, just like Hardy, she was still catching up to everything she'd missed during that period.

She'd stopped writing after her second book, but she'd returned to it with a passion and a need she didn't have before. A need to make sense of her own story. And it was when she thought back on that story, on those two years adrift, that she realized she could've used someone like Hardy. And maybe he could've used someone like her.

She was still in the bath when he arrived at her house. He rang the doorbell first, then she heard his key in the lock and his footsteps in the hall. He stopped in front of the bathroom, as if listening through the door. She didn't greet him, and he didn't say anything. He spent the whole night in the bedroom, only coming out once she was in her own.

* * *

III.

The next morning, she found him on the kitchen floor, sleeves rolled up, his toolbox by his side.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Your fridge's not level and your bloody tap is leaking."

She blinked in surprise and rubbed her face, trying to see through her remaining sleepiness. He continued tinkering behind the appliance which had been pulled away from the wall.

"What? Where d'you even get these tools?"

"They're mine. Pass me the hex wrench."

She told him to stop, but they got into an argument over energy conservation and electricity bills that clearly was not the reason for his bad mood.

"Let's just talk, you're still upset over—"

"I don't want to talk, I want to fix your bloody fridge!"

She let him fix things that didn't need fixing around her house while she sipped her coffee and worked on her computer. Sam was overexcited, running to and fro, as if to warn her of Hardy's actions.

"Get your bloody dog away from me. I'm trying to work here."

She didn't do a thing about it. In fact, she even made a detour to walk past him and Sam on her way to her bedroom. He was fixing the entrance closet door which was indeed wobbly.

She changed into workout clothes, before going back to the living room. She put a yoga mat on the floor and an exercise video in the DVD player. She was halfway through the push up routine when the TV shut down.

"Bollocks," she heard from the basement.

"Oh, you're shitting me."

Alec looked sheepish.

"I'm going for a run with Sam, everything better be fixed when I come back."

The house was empty when she came back, but Alec's things were still there. She considered calling him, but decided to give him some space. She filled Sam's bowls with food and water, and ate a snack herself.

She took a long, refreshing shower, using her favourite citrus and lavender body scrub. She dried her hair with a towel and tied it in a loose braid. She put on a pair of pyjama shorts and a vest top with the socks Hardy had given her, they were too long and drooped around her ankles.

When she came out of the bathroom, Alec was in her bedroom, testing the electricity.

"Looks like everything's back in order."

"Good. Thank you, I guess."

He nodded, and his gaze drifted around the white shabby chic bedroom. There was something on his mind, but she didn't dare ask what it was. He'd been so testy since yesterday. Giving him some time, she applied lotion to her arms and cleared the clutter off the vanity.

"I signed a lease, on my way back from the hardware store," he finally said.

"Oh. Which building?"

"On Sussex Street."

Not the best place he could've gotten, but it was the closest to hers. She tried not to read too much into that.

"That's… great?" she said, approaching slowly.

With a deep sigh, he sat down on the bed. Okay, not great, then.

"You know what you said about deserving kindness? I don't think that's how it works, you don't get what you deserve or what you need. If you're lucky, you might get what you worked hard for, even then…best you can do is enjoy what you have while you have it."

He pressed his lips together, resigned to his fate. She reached for his shoulder, but remembered how he'd shrugged her off yesterday, and dropped her arm before touching him. He noticed and looked at her askance.

"I just never know if I can, you don't really seem to like being touched," she explained.

"It's not that."

She waited for an explanation, and he squirmed under her gaze. He relented with a sigh.

"It's been a while for me. When we touch, it's, erm, very…" he tugged on his ear, and let the sentence linger, unable to find the right word.

At first, she didn't understand what he was saying. Then she remembered having clients who booked her specifically to get over a long dry spell, and how they'd jolt at the first touch.

"It's alright, we'll start slow," she declared.

He rolled his eyes but didn't object. She sat on the bed, facing him, with her legs crossed and her back straight like she'd learned in yoga class. She removed her socks and asked him to remove his as well. She put her toes against his foot, waggling them as well as her eyebrows until he cracked a smile. She scooted closer, so their legs and knees touched.

"For god's sake, I'm not a virgin."

"It's not about that."

She started babbling, telling him the story of her first time— a disastrous experience she could laugh about now. She'd used the anecdote before to put clients at ease. Trading former embarrassments for cheap laughs and a vague sense of trust. She talked until he'd forgotten they were touching, until his fingers were brushing her knees absentmindedly. A luscious warmth spread through her body from the points of contact.

Taking his hands, she placed her palms against his, comparing the length of their fingers. He had nice hands, not too rugged, not too soft.

"Knitting hands," she joked.

"I showed Daisy, she said it's coming back in style. And beards too, apparently."

"Hardy the reluctant fashionista."

He chuckled and examined her hands, turning them over gently.

"Is that where you cut yourself the other day?" he asked, indicating a thin pale line on her index.

"Yeah," she said with a pout.

As their fingers entwined, she bit her lip. His hands encompassed hers firmly. Her grip tightened, and he rubbed her skin softly with his thumbs. Maybe going slow wasn't just for his benefit, after all. She took a deep breath before meeting his eyes. She didn't have any escort tricks now, they'd evaporated from her mind in this moment.

She pushed his shirtsleeves out of the way and ran her hands lightly up and down his forearms, mapping his sinuous strength. He did the same, following the thin blue veins from her wrists to the crook of her elbows and back. On the third way up, he gripped her arms to pull her closer. He uncrossed his legs and she straddled him, not too high on his thighs. He stiffened under her.

"Where is this going?" he asked.

"As far as you want to."

"What do you want?"

"I want to feel your naked body against mine," she declared, looking straight at him.

Hardy swallowed thickly and nodded.

She unbuttoned the top of his shirt and slipped a hand inside the collar. She felt his sharp intake of breath under her palm. She flipped another button with her thumb. And another, moving her hand lower, until light chest hair tickled her fingertips.

"Wait," he said, holding her wrist, "I can't be— I won't be your boyfriend or anything."

"Pheew," Hannah replied with an exaggerated swipe of her forehead, "I really don't want to be a girlfriend."

He searched her face for a moment, eyebrows drawn together.

"What? Is it so impossible that a woman doesn't want to be in a relationship?" she asked curtly, unsettled by his expression. "Does it hurt your ego that I want nothing more than a shag and some company?"

She moved away from him, and he momentarily tightened his grip on her wrist. As soon as she tried to free herself, he let go. She put some space between them but remained seated over his legs.

"I want it to be clear, Hannah, that I've just gotten through a difficult divorce, so a shag and some company is all I can offer you right now. But I like you, and I care about you, and whether you think you deserve it or not, I'm sticking around."

He knew, of course, he knew that this wasn't just about him. Part of her still believed she didn't deserve someone nice. She still believed she was toxic. And she was. Or else she wouldn't have pursued him knowing he was trying to work things out with his ex-wife. He'd even accused her earlier.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out for you in Sandbrook, I wish your ex-wife loved you back."

He shook his head, brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's not like that with Tess. I'm just, sort of used to her."

"How romantic," she quipped, hiding her relief behind cynicism.

"Eighteen years, I'd been with her. She knew me and we were a family, so."

"Why did you want to get back with her, then?" she asked hesitantly.

He worked his jaw as he considered her question and she thought maybe he'd said as much as he was willing to on this subject.

"I thought we could have a— an arrangement," he said, in a measured voice. "We fell out of love long ago, Tess and I, but we stayed together, it had worked before."

"But, if I hadn't called you…" she said in a thin voice, wringing her hands.

He took her chin and made her look at him.

"It was already too late," he said in a definitive tone. "Now can we stop talking about my ex-wife?

After a moment of silence, he cupped her cheek, the uncertainty in his eyes mirrored her own. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes briefly before turning her head to kiss his palm. Then he leaned in slowly as if to give her a chance to back off, but she met him halfway. She brushed her lips against his, and laid a peck on the corner of his mouth, kindling his lust. He groaned and lunged forward to capture her mouth.

At first, his movements were a bit rusty and his nose kept getting in the way, but that didn't deter them. Before long, they fell into a rhythm filled with longing and excitement. She'd kissed many men in the last decade, but it was always different with someone she was attached to. It didn't stop at a touch of lips or a sweep of tongue. Like the moon pulls at the sea, a tide rose in her veins. The way it surged in her, it was no wonder she was afraid to fall in love. They broke the kiss, and she felt out of balance, but something in his gaze steadied her.

"I feel like—," she took a deep shuddering breath, "like you get me, and, maybe, I get you too."

Alec blinked, surprised by her words.

"I don't know that we ever understand another person," he said carefully, "but you're the only who's tried to understand me lately."

Their eyes met, and she initiated the kiss this time, closing the gap between them for a much more heated one.

"What's next?" he asked against her lips.

She kissed the angle of his jaw, and his breath hitched as she flipped another button with her thumb. She trailed her hand down, lower, until she felt a ridge of flesh under her fingertips.

"Pacemaker," he explained.

She looked at the scar, pink and fresh, and she was envious that he had something to show for his heartache.

His abdominal muscles flexed under her hand as it moved further down until she'd opened all the buttons. She slowly push the shirt off his shoulders, and studied his torso, it was lean and strong, speckled with marks that told a tale of resilience.

Hardy fingered the hem of her camisole, looking at her for permission. She nodded in assent, and he pulled her top up and over her head. He observed her skin like she had done to him. He placed his hand against her breastbone and that touch alone overwhelmed her, made her heart swell and push against his palm.

She thought he'd go straight for her breasts next, but instead his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him. Their chests pressed, almost crushed, together. He nuzzled the crook of her neck, and she ran her fingers through his hair. He laughed, a giddy laughter freed from the depth of his chest.

"What?"

"I'm so glad I got divorced," he said, still laughing.

Hannah pulled back, just enough to cradle his cheeks with both hands and see his handsome smiling face.

"Bet I can make you even happier about it," she whispered.

She nudged his nose with hers and kissed him. She marveled at his fingers spanning the width of her ribs. With his thumbs, he skimmed the underside of her breasts, making her nipples pucker. A shiver ran down her spine and her skin broke into gooseflesh. He kissed down her neck and shoulders, dipping his head, to caress her breasts with his lips and teeth, his scruff scratching the tender skin in a pleasant way. Their lips met again, only then did his hands take in all her skin, front to back, caressing every inch available, growing bolder as the kiss deepened.

She slid in his lap until their centers met. He groaned against her skin, and that sound alone made heat flare in her core. He stilled, eyes squeezed shut, trying to regain some control. She carded her hand through his hair, holding his head against her beating heart.

She made a keening sound in the back of her throat, and her hips jerked against her will. The next second, Hardy toppled her over. He was above her, hands on each side of her head, breathing heavily. She pulled him down for a searing kiss. His hand traveled from her neck, down her ribs and along the curve of her waist, then paused on her hipbone. He dipped his pinky under the waistband of her knickers. Without breaking the kiss, she pushed his hand further down. He cupped her mound and wet warmth seeped through the lacy fabric.

"Please," she said, raising her hips to press against his palm.

He pushed the crotch of her underwear aside and finally touched her directly. His fingers moved through her folds, spreading her wetness before rubbing her clit. Hannah threw her head back with a moan. When he slipped a finger in her, she started grinding against his hand, greedy for more. Her pleasure was building rapidly, and she couldn't decide if she wanted him to stop or to continue. He decided for her, slipping in a second finger and dipping his head to suck on her neck.

"Fuck!"

She grabbed his wrist, keeping his hand trapped between her legs. His fingers moved faster as her body arched, a moan caught in her throat just before a shudder traveled through her.

"Well, that was easy," he said smugly.

"Oi!"

He laughed and kissed her, lazily nibbling at her bottom lip. He rolled off her, and she cuddled up to him, sighing contentedly as she nuzzled his neck.

"I'll show you easy," she said.

She trailed a hand down his torso and palmed him through his trousers, eliciting a grunt.

"You know, that thing you said you wanted…"

"I still want it," she answered.

They laughed as they fumbled with each other's pants until they realized they should take off their own themselves. They paused once they were fully naked, giddy and blushing as they took in the other's body.

She wasn't usually shy about her body but it'd been a while since she'd done this in the afternoon, with sunlight streaming in through sheer curtains. Only true friends have sex when there's no darkness to hide them. With her flaws bared, she felt even more naked.

They rested face to face on their sides, hands ghosting over curves and dips. He was hard against her thigh, and there was a dark, desperate look in his eyes she had never seen before. To be even closer to him, she nudged a leg between his.

Alec tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and cradled the nape of her neck, pulling her in until their foreheads touched. When he licked his lips, she tasted it on her own. She chased his flavour, kissing him, tracing the seam of his mouth, seeking his tongue.

It wasn't just arousal that was growing in her at that moment, slipping through her ribs, and nestling in that hollow space she'd felt so sharply before now.

She moved even closer to him, couldn't bear any distance between them. His erection was trapped between their stomachs, and she pressed herself against his thigh. Both their hips bucked as the kiss turned messy, rough even. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back to expose her throat and lick a line of sweat up her neck and along her jaw. Fluid was smeared on her belly as they continued to rut against each other.

He rolled over her, and her legs spread naturally to cradle his hips. She knocked a few things down the bedside table as she looked for a condom. He was about to push in, when he looked up at her as if he expected her to change her mind.

"Don't dawdle," she said with a smile and a light slap on his side.

"Impatient, are we?"

"So I've been told."

He laughed and leaned forward to kiss her. Finally, he entered her, groaning against her mouth. They savored the first languorous thrust, their lips and hips moving in a similar rhythm. Urged on by Hannah's hands squeezing his arse, he accelerated. Her hips jolted to meet his, erratic, desperate. She clutched him to her. His feverish forehead fell to her collarbone. He stilled. She felt him spasm inside of her.

"Did you…?"

"No," he said through clenched teeth.

She jerked her hips with a needy whimper.

"Fuck, Han."

"Don't hold back."

She wanted to see him unravel, knew she would find pleasure in that.

He sat on his heels and, with his arms under her knees, he yanked her closer and pushed back in her. Hannah gasped, fisting the sheets. He was gorgeous above her with his fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead, the tendons of his arms standing out and that stormy gaze fixed on her. The noise of skin slapping skin and of her own heart thudding filled her ears. Hannah slipped a hand between their bodies to touch herself. He tried to help her along with erratic caresses and kisses, but it was getting harder to hold back, and he came, grunting through clenched teeth. He collapsed on her, breathing heavily.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she said, "there's always tomorrow."

His head jerked to look at her.

"Yeah?"

"I'm counting on it."

He was heavy, but she welcomed his weight and how it kept her skin tingling. She gently swiped his fringe to the side to reveal his eyes, they were clear, unburden, and it made her heart soar.

She could've told him she loved him, then.

Hardy kissed the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her brow. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he squeezed her breast.

"I want you again," he said.

"You're going to fall asleep in a minute," she retorted.

She felt the rumble of his laughter against her own chest.

"Probably, yeah."

She went to the loo, and when she came back, he was snoring.

"Typical."

She pulled the blanket over them and snuggled up to him. She drifted off too.

Just a half-hour later, he woke up with a start, his hands gripped her waist.

"I'm here. You all right?"

He nodded and wrapped his arms around her.

Even if the days were getting shorter, the room was still bathed with light. Idle hours stretched before them, there was no point in getting out of bed.

They said silly things, and she laughed in the crook of his neck. They said tender things as he trailed his fingers up and down her spine. And they kissed endlessly for all the things that couldn't be expressed with words.

Only hunger pulled them out of bed. After reheated leftovers eaten in front of the telly, he announced he was going back to Kyle's for the night. It was a disappointment, for sure. She'd expected him to spend the night with her, but he'd said he wouldn't be her boyfriend. Yet, he lingered by the door asking about her plans for the next day. But she was still reeling from his decision to leave, and didn't realize he was inviting her to come by his new flat.

"I'll be super busy tomorrow."

"Right, okay then. I'll see you… later."

"Laters."

He kissed her cheek and left.

* * *

IV.

The next day, her thoughts were scattered. Between a meeting with her editor and another one with Charlotte about an upcoming event, she had enough work to keep her mind busy. Yet she found herself losing track of conversations and daydreaming about Hardy. At the salon, the hairdresser had to remind her several times to keep her head straight.

She used to be better at compartmentalizing.

As soon as she was free, she texted Alec.

"How are you settling in?"

"Fine. Come over."

He didn't have to ask twice. She dropped by her house first to change out of her business suit and take a shower— her hair was all crispy from the product the hairdresser had used while she wasn't paying attention.

"I've brought pizza, champagne and new sheets," she announced when he opened the door.

"Interesting combination."

He cocked an eyebrow at the label on the luxurious set of sheets.

"Have you seen my flat?"

"It's a gift."

"For me or for you?"

"Well…" she said with a coy smile.

"Thanks," he said and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

The apartment was old: kitchen cupboards covered with too many coats of paint and light fixtures so retro they were coming back in style. But overall it had been maintained quite well. There was no bedroom, just one open space. Books, CDs and picture frames had been placed carefully on a set of pine shelves, empty boxes and brand new household essentials were stacked in a corner. She had a few ideas on how to improve the space, but she kept them to herself for now. Hardy was in the middle of putting together an IKEA bedframe, a mattress, still wrapped in plastic, was standing against the wall.

She went to the laundry room in the basement to wash the new sheets and a few other things, while he finished building the bed. Once they'd completed their tasks and Hardy had taken a shower. They used a large box as a makeshift dining table. They sat together on the worn out hardwood floor, drinking champagne out of paper cups and pizza straight from the box. There was a large window (the only one actually) on the far wall and it looked over a park unlike most flats with a view on a dirty alley or a concrete wall. It was the main reason why he'd chosen this place, used as he was to staring out at the horizon since living in Broadchurch. The other places had made him feel claustrophobic. The sun was almost completely set, the sky was streaked with neon pink, and she thought he'd chosen well after all.

She couldn't quite decipher Hardy's mood. He looked more at peace with the situation than he had yesterday morning, but definitely not as happy as he'd been during the afternoon. They hadn't said much since arriving, at least nothing of substance, but he hadn't shied away from her touch either and that was the most important thing.

Hardy yawned and stretched.

"I'm knackered, I should get to bed."

"On your own?" she asked, biting her thumbnail.

He blinked in surprise.

"I didn't think you'd want to. Isn't that girlfriend-y?"

"I think it falls under the companionship category."

His face broke into a grin, and she kissed him.

They made the bed together, and undressed down to their pants. Under the crisp cotton sheets, she put a leg over his and rested her head on his chest, rubbing her cheek against his skin. The city lights shone in right through the window, creating shadows in this unfamiliar room and speckling their bodies with blue and gold.

He caressed her hair, and his touch kept her suspended in that cozy state between sleep and wakefulness.

"I needed you here tonight," he whispered.

#

The next morning, she woke up way too early.

"You need to buy curtains," she complained, rolling towards him.

He didn't reply and she opened her eyes. He was staring at the ceiling, his finger twined over his chest.

"Hey, you all right?"

He shrugged. She kissed his shoulder and propped herself up on her elbow to see him better. He looked nonplussed with his brow furrowed.

"I'm not angry," he declared, "every morning I'd wake up with this rage… it's gone."

He turned on his side to face her.

"That's good, right?" Hannah asked.

"Yeah."

She smiled at him, and he brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. They kissed, lightly at first then with more purpose as their hands drifted over each other's bodies.

"I think I'm going to love London," he said against her skin.

"Best place in the world."


End file.
